


Where Loyalties Lie

by mudkipwrites



Series: GloryVerse [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels, Star Wars: Thrawn Series - Timothy Zahn (2017)
Genre: Action & Angst, Action/Adventure, Canon Era, Canon Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, FACPOV, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Canon Fix-It, Star Wars rebels - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-17 13:02:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29593206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mudkipwrites/pseuds/mudkipwrites
Summary: Grand Admiral Thrawn has always known that there is something peculiar about Agent Kallus. And when he begins to unravel the man's intentions behind his traitorous action as the rebel spy Fulcrum, he is forced to reckon with the demons of his own, treasonous past...
Relationships: Alexsandr Kallus & Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo, Alexsandr Kallus/Garazeb "Zeb" Orrelios, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo/Eli Vanto
Series: GloryVerse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2191383
Comments: 24
Kudos: 28
Collections: Kalluzeb: From a Certain Point of View ~ challenge





	1. Steps Into Shadow

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a funny little ficlet set in the "Just Between Enemies" gloryverse, but it has somehow morphed into a far more serious story that spans the rebels canon and new Thrawn canon. I blame myself for listening to all the audiobooks right after finishing rebels: it's all tangled together for me now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains Thrawn's POV of the canon events that occur during Season 3: Episode One ("Steps Into Shadow") and after the first two chapters of my fic "Just Between Enemies."

> **_Warrior’s Journal, Entry Three-One_ **
> 
> **_Upon occasion, the warrior encounters a traitor within their own ranks. This is not altogether an unexpected occurrence, for wherever brute force is applied, wherever there is power to be found, one is also certain to find those who would seize it for their own gain. Therefore, the well-prepared warrior does well to adjust for such occasions: by enacting the proper means of suspicion and care; by examining every curious, abstract detail; and by pursuing each fraying thread as it begins to unravel. The warrior may find the traitor revealing themselves without anything further than well-meaning inspection, for, or no matter how well-planned the actions and words of deception, disloyalty always reveals its true face._ **

Illuminated by the flickering, blue light of a spherical holo, four figures stand around a command center table. One of them, tall and gaunt with distinctive cheekbones, towers imperiously over the others. Another of them, mustachioed and baring the rank-bars of an admiral, holds himself proudly over the ISD Chimera. The singular woman among them, perhaps some sort of governor from Lothal, is composed of all sharp, severe lines and hard angles. And the final man--a distinctive, golden-haired ISB officer--stands stiffly beside them. He appears to look ill-tempered, arrogant, and slightly ill-fitted with the rest of the others.

_Humans,_ Thrawn observes dully from the shadowy entryway of the door. _Despite their visual contrast, they are utterly similar at the core. Simple; and predictably obedient to the whims of the Empire._

“--And while it’s true that there are pockets of organized resistance,” the mustached admiral is pontificating to the others at the table loudly, “there has never been any evidence of a larger-scale, galaxy-wide operation of protest.” 

He appears to be trying to convince his fellow military strategists that their campaign against the rebel terrorists on Lothal is going well...despite the prevailing evidence otherwise. From the looks of his colleagues’ dissatisfied faces, Grand Admiral Thrawn does not appear to be the only one failing to believe his attempts. The Lothal rebels have been a persistent thorn in the side of the Empire, intercepting shipments and freeing indentured servants, to the point that someone of _his_ caliber had to be called in. 

“And I would like to _keep_ it that way,” Thrawn interjects smoothly. 

He stepping forward into the startled tension, allowing the echo of his softened words to announce his presence. 

As usual, all heads turn in his direction. Grand Admiral Thrawn takes his place in the half-circle among the humans, holding his shoulders high and resolute, as though he does _not_ perceive their hostile reactions to his visage. It is doubtless to him that as they gaze back at him that they see nothing less than an alien before them: cobalt-blue skin; blood-red, glowing eyes; severe, high contours of the brow and cheekbone. His presence appears to be as unwelcome as any common Loth-rat of the rebellion, and Thrawn is not the least bit surprised. 

“Grand Admiral Thrawn,” Moff Tarkin greets him dryly. “Just the man we wanted to see.” 

He inclines his head at the powerful, peculiar-faced human politely; but while Tarkin has shown him a modicum of hospitality, it does nothing to allieviate the poorly-concealed attempts of xenophobia from himself and the other humans. Mustached Konstantine furrows his brow; Governor Pryce tilts her head to the side, sizing him up like some odd bird of prey. The last one--still nameless, still silent before him--simply _stares_ back at Thrawn with an unyielding gaze. He holds the look for so long that Thrawn turns his attention upon him, finding with the faintest flicker of surprise that he does not see _disgust_ echoed back at him from those golden mirrors, but with the _respect_ warranted towards a commanding officer. 

_Interesting._

“What did you say? _Grand Admiral?”_ Konstantine huffs loudly. “Surely, Moff Tarkin, you cannot be _serious...?"_ Admiral Konstantine looks around the room, scandalized. The dark-haired man appears to be waiting for someone among them to admit to preparing an elaborate joke. However, when nobody rises to the occasion, he sets his face sourly, mustache twitching. "...There must be some _mistake_." 

_Ah,_ Thrawn thinks with great boredom. _How very...expected._

His appearance is like the man's first encounter with any non-human race. Indeed, as he gazes around the room, it appears that only the stern-faced ISB agent appears undaunted by his blue-skinned, red-eyed presence among them. “Yes,” Thrawn agrees politely, keeping his voice soft and neutral in order to reduce any indication of threat. “The Emperor promoted me after I secured his victory at Batonn.” 

This, too, garners a strong reaction. 

None of the humans at the table are as openly hostile and loud as Admiral Konstantine; but their hatred of his alien origins is made _perfectly_ clear by their expressions. As the silence echoes around them like the roaring of an engine. Tarkin gives a knowing, small incline of his head. "No mistake," he replies. "the Grand Admiral deserves great commendation." 

Thrawn expects to navigate further anti-alien sentiment; but, once again, it is the sandy-haired _ISB agent_ who startles him. 

“But Batonn was a _massacre!”_ the golden-eyed man nearly shouts. "The civilian casualties far outnumbered the deaths of insurgents! How could something so _terrible_ possibly garner the Emperor's approval?" 

_Interesting,_ Thrawn thinks with a quickening heartbeat. He taking in all that is the taller-built, mutton-chopped man. 

The ISB agent is practically snarling, as though something inside of him has just detonated, and it is ringing too loudly inside of his head for him to hear or speak properly. The ISB agent is also _strong_. As he faces Thrawn down without a hint of fear, he appears to be breathing as though winded from running a mile. A strand of loose, golden hair falls over his forehead, and his pale, freckled cheeks are flushed with either embarrassment or fury.

_Very interesting!_ Thrawn thinks, seeing the man's thundering heartbeat through the infared. _Might **this** be a Warrior? _His eyes glitter with curiosity as he watches Pryce and Konstantine round on the speaker.

"Agent _Kallus?" “Excuse me?!"_

The admiral of the Imperial Star Destroyer steps forward to jab finger into the chest of the man _(apparently named Agent Kallus)._ “Did I hear you wrong, or did you just imply something _ugly_ , maybe even _treasonous,_ about the honor of the Empire!?” Konstantine snarls. Governor Pryce, cool as ever, is far more patient with her attack. She crosses her bony arms and stares at Kallus in palpable dislike. “But it was all within acceptable margins of _loss_ , Agent Kallus,” she chides. “Surely, _you_ of all people understand _that_? _”_

Kallus twitches sharply, and Grand Admiral Thrawn makes a note in his mental file to read _everything_ that he could upon this agent's past. 

_What is going on underneath that standard-issue clothing and rank bar? This man appears to be fighting back memories. Or, perhaps, to be facing some lingering guilt or pain. He clearly holds some kind of...personal stake in civilian casualties. He is...maybe, if prompted, weakened in his faith towards the Empire. Of his status as a warrior, there is no doubt. But where his loyalties truly lie..._ Thrawn finds himself watching the building squabble, feeling a warm, recently untapped sense of interest building inside of him. _Finally. A worthy opponent approaches._

After a few more, intense moments of this posturing and interrogation, Moff Tarkin intervenes with a sharp wave of his hand.

_“Enough,”_ he says quietly, in that low, chilling drawl. The room stills to silence. “It is not our place to question the Emperor’s choices," the Moff continues. "Batonn secured what the Emperor had intended; and what is enough for _him_ is good enough for _us._ ” Tarkin scans an imperious eye around the room, eyes seeming to bulge from their unusual sockets. “The rebel insurgents were purged, and a message was sent strong and clear to the others.”

He glares at ISB Agent Kallus, as though challenging him to argue further. _(To Thrawn’s disappointment, the agent does not.)_

“Very well then,” Tarkin continues, nodding with approval. “Now, might we address why I have summoned you all here in the first place? As I was saying, _Grand Admiral_ Thrawn has some insight about our current problem with the Lothal rebels. It would be most prudent for all the rest of you to _pay attention_ to the information that he is about to share. If you cannot manage to capture the terrorists, then you would do well to place yourselves into Thrawn's capable hands.” He gestures his own bony fingers towards the waiting holo. “Well, Grand Admiral? What do _you_ think of Governor Pryce’s theory about the rebels in the Lothal sector?”

Thrawn inclines his head in a show of gratitude. And yet, as he falls into the rapture of recalling his presentation, he can only think of the _unusual_ ISB agent standing in front of him. 

“I thank you for that introduction,” he says softly to the gathered circle, “as I thank you all for your enduring loyalty to the Empire.” But it is not of commitment and loyalty that he muses of while he recounts the details of the rebel pilots and their pirate friends; it is the possibility of disloyalty, dishonor, and possible _treason_ that swirls in his mind as he ponders the puzzle that is Agent Kallus. 

_An outspoken and sympathetic individual,_ he thinks, gazing into the holo. _Someone with a complex and potentially liable past._

He feels his lips curling with satisfaction. _Could it be that I have once again found a worthy opponent? It has been far too long since any of these trivial, basic humans have even slightly drawn my interest..._ Speaking to the gathered half-circle of humans, but only having eyes for the newly-discovered ISB agent, Grand Admiral Thrawn feels his heart pounding with a newfound interest. _The hunt now begins._

_Perhaps, some humans are still worthy of my attention._

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what do you think so far??? Please let me know with comments or kudos if you have time. Your feedback and responses are truly what keeps me motivated in telling stories.


	2. The Antilles Extraction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains Thrawn's POV of the canon events that occur during Season 3: Episode Four ("The Antilles Extraction") and after the third chapter of my fic "Just Between Enemies."

> **_Warrior’s Journal, Entry Three-Four_ **
> 
> **_One does not become a traitor overnight. The gradual descent and eroding of character is similar to the long-term maturation of an infection or virus. It begins with innocent-sounding questions; and it festers, over time, into the fully-formed, intentionally treasonous actions. If a warrior is to be prepared for such an infestation, they must practice the same wariness and protection as they would against any other disease: vigilance; deploying swift countermeasures; crafting a ruthless, defensive plan. Without such measures, the warrior is vulnerable to being corrupted from within; whether by the weakness of the mind, or, by the even weaker means of the heart._ **

Thrawn peers at the artwork displayed on the crumbling duracrete wall, carefully examining each color and angle. 

The spherical form of the firebird is, in itself, a shape of resilience: speaking of endings and new beginnings, a cycle of death always followed by resurrection. The choice of color upholds such an interpretation, boasting of hope and fire in its warm, brilliant-orange colors, speaking of fresh flame rising out of the ashes. Not unlike other tools of the rebellion, the spray-nozzle paint-can also presents ideas of lowered costs and accessible mediums of free art to the average citizen. And, stylized with what could only be a signature, cartoonish flair, there is no doubt in his mind that the original artist is the very same rebel who he’d encountered before. 

“Sabine Wren was here,” he murmurs, stroking a hand over his chin, “at Skystrike Academy. As the human saying goes: directly under our noses.” 

Behind him, there is a tense, uncomfortable silence. Thrawn had been followed to this old, worn-down spot of chipped duracrete behind the laundromat by a furious Governor Pryce and hand-wringing Lieutenant Lyste. Absent--and most notably--is the golden-haired, outspoken ISB Agent Kallus. The man had failed yet _again_ to obtain the rebels, as he’d been ordered; and, perhaps, he had withdrawn from the others today in order to sulk in his shame. _Or, perhaps,_ Thrawn thinks through narrowed eyes, _it is something of an entirely different nature._ For he had been pondering the case of this man even more since his strange, delayed return from Bahryn. It appears to him that Kallus had been rather lackluster in all of his usual briefings, and had shown far less skill in his tasks since he'd been injured up on the ice moon with a known rebel. It went beyond his estimation of what ought to be accounted for in the bruising of pride and injured limb. Yet, _deliciously,_ it all factors into ISB-021’s complex, emotional puzzle. 

“Or, rather: directly under _your_ noses," he corrects himself, turning to face them. "For, once again, _you_ have failed to capture the local rebels." 

The two humans stiffen; Pryce with fury, Lyste with _terror._ Lothal's Imperial governor opens her slim, white-lipped mouth to argue, but Thrawn waves an impatient hand to silence her. He isn’t interested in having another argument with Pryce about the lapse of caution in the incompetent security measures. He’s _far_ more eager to find some time to track down and question Agent Kallus, who was said to be present when Wren had departed from Skystrike with her latest batch of defectors.

“This lack of appropriate skill will be _answered_ ,” he continues in a quiet threat, directing most of his coolness at Governor Pryce. “The Emperor cannot afford to lose more TIE-defenders or pilots. I expect that you will not fail during your next encounter.” 

The blue-eyed human woman glares back at him, looking as though she would like nothing more than to reach for the blaster pinned at her side and shoot him directly between the red, glowing eyes. Predictably, the younger Lieutenant Lyste looks almost as though he might cry. Clearly he’d been fed with the rumors that Thrawn had sown among the younger Imperials about his ruthless judgement of failed procedure. _Good._ “Yes, Grand Admiral,” she replies sourly, mouth puckering into a tight, bloodless purse. “We shall make sure to double our security efforts.”

Thrawn favors her with a polite nod, brushing an invisible fleck of dust from his uniform. “Very well. You are dismissed.”

Without looking back, he turns and makes his way towards the visiting officers' quarters. He hopes to locate and question Agent Kallus before departing for the _Chimera_ within the hour. Perhaps the man will have answers for him about his recent lapse in responsibility; perhaps there will be more truths _revealed_ than said, in the man's presence, execution, and body-language.

Grand Admiral Thrawn _smiles._ He does _so_ love a good hunt. 

His walk through the ominous, hangar-like hall takes him through the heart of the facility's training grounds. Skystrike Academy has been present on Montross for several decades, and the acidic air of the unbreathable atmosphere has begun to chafe and crumble at the durasteel edges of the building. What was once an impressive hall now appears to be shrouded in gloom and shadow. And--as he observes the black-clad, uniformed students wandering with downturned faces along the halls--Thrawn wonders if there might be more potential, rebel defectors among them. No doubt that the influence of Wren and the Lothal traitors has left upon them a memorable impact. 

_But no matter,_ he soothes himself. _I have cornered my prey. Kallus, if nothing else, will provide me with answers..._

The grand admiral comes to parade rest outside of the resident quarters. He raises a hand, rapping softly upon the door with his blue-toned knuckles. “Enter,” a muffled, low, and richly-accented voice calls from within. He obliges, stepping into the room with a pneumatic hiss of air. Agent Kallus is seated at a modest work desk, his golden head bowed while appearing to read from a dimly-lit datapad. One hand rests upon the imitation wood surface of his furniture, and the other is scrolling lazily past what appears to be paragraphs of a lengthy essay or novel.

When he realizes who has entered into the room with him, his whole body stiffens with instant concern. _But not intimidation,_ Thrawn observes, watching the warrior's golden eyes tighten around their creased edges. _Interesting._

“Grand Admiral!” Agent Kallus says, rising quickly and procuring his hand. “How unexpected!” 

ISB-021 is nearly as tall as _he_ is, rising right up to the Chiss' squared shoulders and jawline. Grand Admiral Thrawn finds that he does not have to crane to look down at the human as he does most of the others; a fact that he appreciates, and finds suitable in a strong warrior. With a flicker of amusement, he notes that Kallus is also seeming to size him up, appearing unsure of how to approach his superior officer in such close and casual quarters.

Finally, Kallus turns his eyes away in submission. "You are very welcome, of course. Please, do come in." 

Thrawn accepts his invitation, entering into the room and perching himself on the bunk’s crisply-made corner in the absence of other seating. “Thank you, Agent Kallus. I do apologize for the intrusion.” He smoothes out an invisible wrinkle on the bedsheet, mulling over his rapidly-spinning thoughts. “However. I find that our topic of conversation is of some... _sensitivity."_

He watches as Kallus swallows, tracing the movement of his throat's apple.

_There is a tension about the lines of his jaw and facial musculature,_ Thrawn observes sharply. _His temperature is slightly increasing, and his heartbeat is rising inside of his chest._ Yet, no matter the signs of his apparent internal distress, Agent Kallus’ well-trained and clever face reveals nothing besides his minute swallow of anxiety at his presence. _I was right to hold some suspicion about him._ _This man is a most talented actor, if nothing else._

“Of course, Sir,” Agent Kallus answers graciously in spite of it all.“Tell me, would it be better for us to go for a walk, or perhaps, make an inspection around the perimeter to appear less conspicuous?...” 

Thrawn shakes his head serenely. “Here is fine,” he replies. “Although I appreciate your willingness to speak with me, Agent. Which, as a matter of fact, brings us to our topic: for, I may have suspected otherwise, given your recent track-record of absences from critical debriefings while on board the _Chimera."_

Kallus visibly tenses. His hands grip onto the datapad, then slowly release. “My apologies, Grand Admiral,” he answers at length.

Raising a a hand, passing it over shadow-bruised eyes and greasy hair, Kallus sighs heavily. It occurs to Grand Admiral Thrawn then that the man perhaps has not slept or showered within the recent hours. Due to his (admittedly, rather limited) understanding of human preoccupations, this was not something that happened on a regular and healthy occurrence."

“If I might be frank?" Kallus asks quietly. "It may not be the most _professional_ thing to admit, but…” The golden-haired man hesitates, chewing on one lower lip. “...but I have found my return and recovery after Bahryn to be...far more _difficult_ than I had anticipated." 

Thrawn blinks in surprise. Once again, he is impressed by this human's candor. He shifts his plants, choosing to speak from a similar tactic. _If Agent Kallus is going to be transparent with the sabbac cards in his hand,_ he thinks to himself _then I shall be to. This will be its own test, of sorts, for the man's true loyalties._ “I see. Is that in regards to the injuries that you sustained on the ice moon?" He shifts in his chair. "Or, perhaps, do you speak in regards to the _conversation_ that you had with one certain rebel, _Garazeb Orrelios,_ after he rescued you from certain death?" 

The grand admiral steeples his fingers in pleasure as he gazes at the open-mouthed, horrified Agent Kallus. 

“Oh, come now, ISB-021: I have indeed read your submitted report. Were you most discomforted by his friendly gesture of handing you that geothermal meteorite, so that you would not simply freeze to death, as an enemy ought? Or was it, perhaps, that you were caught off guard by his attempts to persuade you to join himself and the other Spectres upon the departing _Ghost,_ so as to desert the empire and to join the growing Rebel Alliance?”

Whatever Kallus had done before to hold his composure, it's _shattered_ now. He is _staring_ at the grand admiral, blinking as though waking from a heavy stupor. 

“S-so you _did_ read them,” he breathes, voice ragged and tired, hand drifting over to massage at his injured knee. “I didn’t realize that grand admirals had time for petty reports...” He chuckles weakly. When Kallus realizes that his words are only to met by Thrawn’s raised eyebrow, he continues to drive his shaking fingertips into the muscle. “Alright: _yes._ I had _no_ _idea_ that Orrelios would be joining me on Bahryn, nor that he would act and speak in such a persuasive manner. I must admit that it threw me off-guard.” 

He flinches, as though the wound beneath his touch hurts. 

“Naturally, it unnerved me in my intentions to tame him," Kallus continues," and when I arrived back at the ship, and found that he had left me with an encrypted transmission. S-so that I could someday reach out to the rebels…”Thrawn's attention sharpens. He hadn't _realized_ this. He watches Kallus twitch visibly, as though just now realizing the depths of his potentially traitorous intentions...as well as the consequences of keeping them from a superior officer until now. "...B-but it wasn't because Orrelios had me convinced! It was because I thought that I might _keep_ it, and attempt to decrypt it under my own secrecy. So that we might, someday, obtain an advantage. Perhaps the location of the rebel _Ghost._ ” 

Grand Admiral Thrawn feels every synapse inside of his brain flaring with delighted _fire_. 

_Oh, this is terrible!_ Thrawn thinks with relish. _Not only is ISB Agent Kallus wrestling with his ongoing loyalty to the Empire, but now, he has also admitted to splitting himself between two potential loyalties: that of the Emperor, and that of Orrelios’ rebels!_ The grand admiral cannot help but lick his lips in anticipation as he considers the now terrified features of his inferior agent. _Of course, it could only be you, Agent Kallus: for I’ve read_ **_all_ ** _of your journal entries. Not just the ones from Bahryn: but also the ones from Ondoron. And the detailed horrors of Lasan’s injustice. Only you would consider such a foolish and heartfelt endeavor._

He contemplates the vulnerable agent, watching the color rising back into his face.

_But...what I do not understand...is why did not take Orrelios' offer. I suspect that you do not wish to serve the Empire; and yet, according to your story, your loyalty yet continues to abide…_

Agent Kallus appears to be making an attempt at rallying himself. He is squeezing onto his injured leg so hard that it trembles under his grasp, and his eyes have taken on a new, urgent fervor. "If I could just unravel their transmission codes--" he pleads in a ragged and desperate voice, looking for all the galaxy like a man who has been possessed and ravaged by terminal illness. "--If you would _allow_ me more time to pinpoint their location--" Kallus seems to be running dry with fear and words. 

_But I see your heart, Agent Kallus_ , Grand Admiral Thrawn thinks victoriously. _And, I believe: it is the heart of a **rebel**. _

“ _Could_ you?” Thrawn asks softly, leaning back and inspecting the human pleading with him. “Do you _truly_ believe that you might stay in contact with Orrelios and the others without giving yourself away to their offer? Can you _actually_ manage to decipher their code, and all without betraying your loyalties to the emperor?” He is curious to see if the man will take up his transparent offer. 

But Kallus, it appears, is open and willing. He urgently nods, looking at Thawn with the utmost devotion. (If this is all an act, it is _quite_ convincing.) 

“ _Ah,”_ Thrawn says, reaching forward to rest a hand upon Kallus’ knee as well. “Then _now_ I understand you far better, Agent Kallus. _That_ is why you released the rebel,Sabine Wren, when she was just here at Skystrike Academy: because you could not afford to let Captain Orrelios _think_ that you were using him for your plans with the Empire, and because--while you play at being a rebel--your true allegiance lies with the Empire. Isn't that so? Am I correct in my deductions?” 

The human looks equal parts shocked, sick, and terrified. He trembles, nodding at Thrawn’s conclusions. 

“ _Very good,”_ Thrawn praises, catching the man by surprise. The grand admiral has other questions _(and, certainly, more suspicious than what he has voiced here during their time together)_ but he must now proceed with the utmost care. If Grand Admiral Thrawn wants to ensure that the flighty ISB agent stumbles into his own web of treason, then he must allow the man to believe that he has emerged from this battle of wills as the victor. “Very good, indeed. And, as such: for your efforts, I have a bargain to offer you, Agent Kallus.” 

The human stares back at him with utmost focus. Thrawn leans forward, placing a hand upon the flesh of Kallus’ injured knee. 

“Albeit unorthodox, I approve of your dangerous mission,” he begins. Thrawn gives Kallus a little squeeze with his slim fingers, just barely enough to be felt. “And I look forward to the results of your investigation with utmost interest. I shall provide you with whatever you need in your task of decrypting transmissions, and I shall keep your little acts of questionable ethics just between us.”

He increases the pressure of his fingertips. " _However._ If you cannot manage to pull off this clever deception, and find yourself falling further into possible _treason..."_

Grand Admiral Thrawn gives Agent Kallus' injured knee a sharp, meaningful _clench._ He hears the other man _gasp,_ eyes blown wide and misted with pain in their golden spheres. He gazes up at the Chiss, clearly feeling the magnitude of his threat, doing what he can to contain his present fear and his aching, rebellious weakness.

"...then I wouldn't _begin_ to imagine your consequences." 

* * *


	3. An Inside Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains Thrawn's POV of the events that occur during Season 3: Episode Ten ("An Inside Man") and during the long expanse of time in between chapters three and four of my fic "Just Between Enemies."

> **_Warrior’s Journal, Entry Three-Ten_ **
> 
> **_Hidden foes often reveal themselves by their own accord. The art of subversion takes utmost, constant attention; and, in one, singular moment gone awry, the entire illusion reveals itself, shattering into a million, irrecoverable pieces. For a time it is possible to work alongside an inside man while he goes unnoticed; and yet, it is far more likely that such an operative will expose himself in a timely manner by a seemingly harmless, everyday detail. But there is no such thing as an oversight when it comes to the art of deception: every artifact, every exhaled breath, must be accounted for. If not, a traitor's attempt will certainly fail._ **

_“Listen_ to me!” Kallus hisses. “ _I’m Fulcrum!”_

With the taste of burnt plastisteel lingering upon his tongue, Grand Admiral Thrawn licks at his lips in terrible fascination. His crimson, glowing eyes are locked on the dusty, flickering monitor of Lothal’s factory control room, and he is nearly vibrating with triumph as he watches the ISB agent make his confession of treason to the other rebels.

“Wait, _what?”_ The young, human Jedi pulls off his helmet. 

Thrawn is not nearly so surprised as Ezra Bridger. In fact, he’d been _anticipating_ this. The beautiful tension had almost bloomed to a fracturing point after the golden-haired man had returned from Bahryn, and had begun to moodily seclude himself in his quarters, neither showing his for debriefings nor answering his required transmissions. And _now_ \--centered within the events of this morning, only emphasized by their discussion before--Thrawn is _certain_ that Alexsandr Kallus has now severed ties with the Empire, and chosen to place his loyalties on the side of the Rebellion and its Spectres. 

_And the details of where and how,_ Thrawn muses, _shall be my next project._

“By the light of Lothal’s moons,” Kallus says slowly and clearly, gazing into the unmasked eyes of his would-be enemies, and Thrawn feels his heart _pound._ Agent Kallus has not only become sympathetic to the rebels; he has _become_ one of them. In those words the grand admiral recognizes the phrase that Kallus used as a code, something that the rebels apply to announce their disguised presence to one another whilst inside Imperial walls. Breathless, he clutches the monitor and memorizes each word and phrase as the inside man reveals himself. 

“Your friend Zeb trusted me on the ice moon,” Kallus continues, “I saved Sabine Wren at the fighter academy, and now, I’m trying to save _you._ But you have to _trust me!”_

Thrawn feels a tangled sense of fury and bodily anticipation as he watches the Jedi sizing Agent _Fulcrum_ up. Syndulla’s droid warbles and bleeps urgently from between them in binary. “Ugh. I can’t _believe_ that we’re gonna have to work with this guy!” Bridger complains, rolling his eyes at Jarrus’ resigned expression. “Trust you? _Ha!_ How many times have you ruined our plans, Kallus _?_ ” He drops a fist to knock on the head of the C1-10P unit, making it curse brilliantly. “And the fact that Chop trusts you? Yeah. It _doesn’t_ really strengthen your case.” 

The elevator holding the rebels shudders, and Thrawn narrows his eyes. _They are running out of time._

Jarrus also seems to realize this, and waves off his student with an impatient hand. “Not now, Ezra. Okay, _Fulcrum--_ if that’s who you _really_ are, and youwant to _help_ us--" he glares at Kallus with open hostility, "Then we’ve got to get a transmission out to our friends. This whole place is on lockdown, and we’re not getting out of here without your help. We just discovered that there is a new TIE-fighter project going on here under wraps, and we've got to let the general and her superiors know as soon as possible. Are you with us?"

In the tense silence that follows, Thrawn’s eyes pulse bright and red. Unblinking, he waits and for the ISB Agent-turned-Fulcrum’s response. 

“Then we have to move _quickly_ ,” Kallus provides, his deep voice rather high, tight and breathless in his moment of treason. “Your droid can open your com-links from the nearest office port. I’ll provide the access codes: you provide the setup. Now, get your weapons out--once these doors open: you’re going to have to direct blaster-fire at me and the rest of the others to make the getaway look convincing.”

He draws out his own weapon and points the muzzle at the other rebels. 

The younger Jedi snorts. “ _Have_ to? Heh, you say it like that’s some kinda _chore_.” 

But neither Kallus nor Jarrus have time to scold the youngling for his words; because that is precisely when the elevator doors slide open, and the roomful of soldiers turn in their direction. Grand Admiral Thrawn watches the monitor with a deathly, transfixed calm as the rebels disarm the troopers and relay their message, completing the fullness of their traitorous actions with the assistance of Kallus. He even finds his lips curving into the ghost of a smile when Bridger sends the shocked, golden-haired agent spiraling into the thick pane of the transparisteel projector, fracturing it into thousands of pieces and sending _Fulcrum_ into a convincingly battered heap on the floor. “Hey, _I_ wanted to be the one to do that,” Jarrus complains, elbowing his padawan. “Well, he’s one of us now,” Bridger quips in departure. “So you’ll get your chance, Master.”

_One of us now._

It is clear now to Thrawn that his suspicions have been correct: that Agent Kallus has done _far_ more than simply stay in contact with the rebel Garazeb Orrelios, and maintain a frequency with the spectres. No, far more: that he has been giving over secret codes, major plans, and other sensitive information to those who would _weaponize_ it against the Empire. ISB-021 has _not_ played the role of double-agent for very long...instead, he has moved from the passing, flirtatious _desire_ of becoming a rebel to giving himself over in what has become a fully-blown _affair_. 

_Oh, you will get your chance at him, Jarrus. And so will I._

Thrawn’s heartbeat is pounding inside of his chest as he watches Kallus twitch and groan from beneath the desk, rubbing at his somewhat-repaired leg and pushing himself up to a sitting position. Blood glitters brightly upon several sharp cuts from embedded transparisteel, and one of his eyes has begun to bruise. A piece of golden hair falls over his forehead, and he lifts a hand, sweeping it away. The expression upon his face does not look like a man who has been beaten down and betrayed: it looks like the face of someone who is _alive._ Someone who is feeling exhilaration, and finding themselves free for the very first time. 

_You know nothing yet of a traitors pain, Agent Kallus._ _But by the time I am done with you, I shall make sure of it._

Grand Admiral Thrawn turns his back to the monitors, striding once more towards the Imperial office located upon Lothal.

He will call Pryce, Lyste and Kallus in for an informal interrogation; he will go through the gestures of making a plan, the motions of setting a trap for this rebel informant, as though he does not already know, is not already _convinced_ of the depths of the man’s treason, _flush_ with the blood of victory and recorded evidence upon his hands. But, no: he will _wait_ , like the proper Warrior, until the most right and suitable time.

And then, he will _crush_ Agent Kallus.

Thrawn will ensnare Fulcrum within his inescapable grasp; and with him, the _entire rebellion._

_But first,_ he thinks, excitement flooding his veins, _I shall pin him down, examine him under the light, discover what makes the rebellious heart beat._ After all, this had begun with the art of a puzzle; it would be a shame to leave it open-ended. Upon their first meeting, the grand admiral could not have known that Agent Kallus would become someone traitorous enough to earn himself the title of Fulcrum--something only bestowed upon the most gifted and generous rebellion spies. At the time, it had simply been the _curiosity_ of him: the human man’s willingness to work with an alien, where his peers cringed away; his worthy dissatisfaction with the Empire’s thoughtless orders and violence; his powerful, palpable dissatisfaction with life as it was. But _then_ , there had been the increasingly compelling pieces of evidence to add to his clutch...Kallus’ recalcitrance after being marooned on Bahryn, his building dislike of the other Imperial leaders...his admitted failure and continued transmissions...

_His reaction to the speeder demonstration this morning._

Thrawn's lip curls as he reflects back on the enlightening moment.

The grand admiral had been merciless in his inspection of the factory workers and their loyalty to the Empire; of that much, he was certain. He’d been summoned to inspect the greater-than-average output of faulty 624-AVA vehicles on Lothal, and he’d anticipated to find a pocket of rebels while conducting his investigation on sabotage. _However_ , Thrawn discovered something far _worse_ prevailing among the workers: _hope._ Specifically, the hope of _rebellion_ against the Empire. Such a growing sentiment must be quashed out, and firmly _,_ lest there be another start of local group like the Phoenix Squadron.

Naturally, an effective and crushing display of power was called for. 

Agent Kallus, however, had reacted with terror _unnatural_ to his rank, role, and station. 

If Grand Admiral Thrawn had not been watching for the reactions of the factory workers so carefully, he might have missed the ISB agent’s intense and despairing reaction. However, as he was already trained on the thermal output, adrenaline spike, and cringing posture of the discouraged workers, his attention was _immediately_ signaled when Agent Kallus had trembled in horror at the display. Thrawn had studied the other man with surprise as the bow of the human’s lips had fallen open in dread, the color had drained away from his fair face, the the fight-or-flight signals flashing into responce. As the beads of sharp, salty sweat prickled upon his brow, Thrawn realized that this was _not_ the reaction of a man who had been put through the rigors of the Imperial Academy, nor one who had been trained under the ruthless hand of the ISB. And was most _certainly_ not a man who had been mentored by Colonel Wulff Yularen, nor someone who carries the title 'Butcher of Lasan.' 

This flighty, fearful version of Kallus was _such_ a different man from the fearless, ill-tempered agent that Thrawn had met on the _Chimera_ that he had simply _known_ that something of importance had shifted. 

_A pity,_ he thinks now with cooled disappointment. _If Kallus had not become so weak as to be corrupted by the rebels, then I could have drawn him to my inner circle._ Skills like his are not to be lightly discarded. With quiet care, Grand Admiral Thrawn steps inside the door of the factory's Imperial office, pacing into the shaded light of the room with his mind racing _wildly_ with thoughts of betrayal. _When did the precise moment occur, that Agent Kallus actually turned into Fulcrum? Surly, it was even before he saw Morad Sumar perish upon his speeder this morning...perhaps, it was even before he'd been at Skystrike Academy?_

And then, there it was: a flicker of new suspicion.

_Perhaps...it is possible that he has deceived me from the very beginning...and Agent Kallus been Fulcrum since Bahryn, or even before._

The grand admiral hums with appreciation at the sharp edges of this clever puzzle as he goes about the work of queuing up several holos. One of them, a full-color capture of the Syndulla family, hovers before him in the air. Another, the golden-orange capture of Wren’s firebird taken from Skystrike, takes a central and prominent place before the desk. He adds several others: a capture of Ezra Brider, young and standing next to his late, rebel parents; the smoldering remains of Lasan, taken just after Kallus’ platoon had overthrown the capitol; a rotating blueprint of the _Ghost,_ the battered and customized VCX-100 light freighter that is called home by Lothal’s Spectres. As always, there is a method behind his apparent madness: these are the same holos that the grand admiral had prepared for Lieutenant Lyste and Agent Kallus to ponder during their debrief this morning.

All but the _one;_ a critical addition, which he’s just added after Fulcrum's reveal.

The thin, spider-like, rotating trident that he knows to be the symbol of the rebel spies who are coded as _Fulcrum_ appears next to the rest. It is very small compared to the others, and it is placed in a position of less significance next to the familiar and colorful holos. And yet, it will be one last, final test of the decayed loyalty of Agent Kallus. Although Thrawn doubts that the man will find it possible inside of himself, he will provide the traitorous man with one, last opportunity to publicly recognize and defame the title when he sees it among the others. After all, Kallus had done so well at noticing the significance of this art, just hours before...

_“Sir. You wanted to see us?” Lyste had asked._

_Thrawn had inclined his head, gesturing for the two men to join him in front of the shimmering holo._

_“Lieutenant,” he said, directing his words at Lyste but his attention at Kallus. “What can you tell me about this?” He waited patiently for the young, eager human to tell him what he already knows. Then, finished with the pleasantries, he gets to the point by asking Agent Kallus._

_“It’s the mark of the Phoenix Squadron,” Kallus had replied. “A creature of flight, rising up from the flames. A symbol of their commitment to victory.”_

_As anticipated, there is no hesitation in his voice as he answered. The man had prepared himself beautifully for such an interaction, showing little flaw or fear in his possible mask. Clearly, the rebels have Thrawn's respect; perhaps begrudging, but certainly there. Every word choice, lilt and nuance of his words is a telltale sign to the grand admiral._

_“I am confident that we will find them, after an alert is ordered,” Kallus had declared._

_His voice had been low, velveteen, and steady. However, Thrawn had not forgotten his fear from the speeder; he could still smell the sharpness of sweat and salt on his brow. If he listens carefully, Thrawn can even hear the signs of a raised, beating hear, increasing above its natural rate. If he watches through the infrared, he can see the heat that betrays the durasteel calm of his mellow presence._ _This very well could be a man attempting subversion._

_Only time and further detail shall tell...._

And Grand Admiral Thrawn intends to collect that evidence _now_.

If Kallus is wise, he will beg his superior officers for mercy. But if he does _not..._ Grand Admiral Thrawn raises his com-device, keying in the memorized codes for Lyste, Pryce, and Kallus. Now that he has the necessary evidence of ISB-021's betrayal, he will summon them all here to the office, and attempt one, last gesture to mend the broken and frayed loyalties. He has no doubt that it will end in betrayal; for he can still hear the echoed words to Bridger and Jarrus as their newest 'friend' unknowingly bared his conscience in the elevator. _(“By the light of Lothal’s moons...Just lsten to me! I’m Fulcrum!...")_

_At the very least,_ he muses to himself, _this_ _betrayal shall be artfully done._

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave me a comment or kudos if you have the time! I really appreciate hearing from you. It gives me the motivation to keep going on stories like this one.


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